


Eselzior has Died

by Good_Morning_And_Good_Night



Series: Microtubules: What Brings Things Together [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcoholic Man, Blood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night/pseuds/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood and booze are all that's left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eselzior has Died

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or realities (unless otherwise stated). I do not make money off of this.
> 
> These characters are mine, if you wish to use them, tell me first and I'll reply and we'll all be happy.
> 
> This is not betaed. If you see any mistakes, I would love for you to kindly point them out.

Eselzior was an old artist once scientist, having long gone past the time of his prime and the greatness (or not so greatness) of his craft. He now wandered around cities, marveling at the architecture, pointedly facing away from the art that reminded him so much of his own, shunned by the public. By night he would drag himself to a local pub and drink himself to a stupor with stolen money, hiding a bottle of something-or-other in his pocket to ride over the next day until he found the next home. Soon his alcohol tolerance was at an all-great high, alcohol poisoning held at bay by the calculations of how many drinks he could have before he died.

His clothes, a raggedy, browning pair of pants and a shirt that looked like it hadn’t seen a good wash in a month at least, donated to him by an old woman sometime in the last year he had been wandering, his clothes were all he had, beyond the scarce supplies he kept in his pocket, unable to leave a part of him behind on his wanderings. His ragged blonde hair, now streaked with dirt and grime and smog and sticks and anything that could get stuck in it was sometimes smooth and other parts stuck up at attention.

There were bags under his eyes, heavy with lack of sleep and poor nutrition. His fingers, long and spindly they had been were now bony and covered in stretchy skin jittered often, his arms twitching more and more as his morality deteriorated. Just the last day he had killed a man for the money he had, stumbling away afterwards, blood dripping from the broken bottle in his hands.

His mother would be appalled, that he knew, but… he didn’t really care anymore, now did he? She had scorned his love for art and his drawings, telling him he would be useless and a poor man forever… She was right about useless, but he was hardly poor, thought Eselzior, leaning against a nearby wall as body shuddering laughs racked his body, shaking his legs to such a state that he could hardly stand, knobby knees clacking against one another.

He kept laughing, collapsing onto the uneven ground with the bloody broken bottle in his damned right hand, his left still held up against the wall, as if attempting to get him to stand up again, walk a few more steps, attempt another emotion, but Eselzior was gone. The man was gone, leaving behind a shell of something that stole and killed and did things just because he could and because he needed the damned alcohol.

Eselzior has died.

Long live the King of Drunk.


End file.
